Love Me Back
by Accidental-Acid-Burns
Summary: Warnings: Abusive relationship, manipulation, mental issues. Anderson is Sally Donovan's imaginary friend, and no matter what sh-no, what his wife, does to him, he will always love her, and adore her, and he would never ever take her for granted. He loves her. (That's what she made him to do, after all.)


A/N I should be working on Backwards On Impact. I wrote this instead.** Warnings: Manipulation, abusive relationship, mental issues.**

Sally Donovan does not love a real life person. She loves one she made up. She loves Anderson. But he wasn't real to anyone else. How could he be? He was a man who no one would see but her. One with short brown hair, and dark eyes that had seen too much. And she loved him. Far, far too much.

Sally created Anderson when she was four, and her parents were fighting again and she couldn't sleep because they were shouting and she would have done anything for a hug, or a 'well done, Sally.' But she never got anything like that. So, she made someone to love her. And he was year younger than her, and the first thing he did was try and hug her, but he fell right through. She felt a little better, now she had someone she could talk with. She told him all secrets. Like Daddy's lady friends, and what Mummy and Mr. Carpenter next door did when Daddy was away. She told him all about all the things she knew. And he always listened to her, and he always believed her. She finally had someone to show her pictures to, and to give her affection, even if it wasn't really affection, because she created him to love her. It mattered not. Because to her, he was as real as real gets, and she loved him, and he loved her.

Sally grew up.

She was no longer a little girl who needed love and comfort, and to be told she was right. She'd banished Anderson when she was ten, to move onwards in her life. She'd never seen him, but she knew he was lonely. So, she made him a wife, someone he could love on his very own. And he was happy, with his wife, and was happy, to live in her mind, and to leave her alone.

She wasn't happy without him, but she'd banished him, not the other way around. She was not happy with his wife. She wanted Anderson for herself, but she couldn't bear to make Anderson sad. So she would make him jealous. She had sex, to a point where it hurt her knees, to make him /mad/. It didn't work. Would it have ever worked? So she got angry. And the angrier she became, so did his wife. She glared at Anderson, and shut her eyes. His wife hit him. He was knocked down, and he begged for Sally to make it stop. She didn't listen, but raged silently in her mind, and Anderson's wife got worse, and it wasn't unto she opened her eyes and saw Anderson beaten and bloody, curled up by her ankles she got worried. She knelt down and hugged his invisible frame, carrying him to the couch. She could hold him now, she realized, as she cleaned blood off his face.

Despite how this was all her fault, he still looked up at her, with the eye that wasn't swollen shut, with love, adoration and affection. And now she could see he was just a toy, someone she made up, to love her, to adore her, to care for her. She couldn't make him be angry with her, she wouldn't have been able to stand it, so she settled for forgiveness, and she would look after him. She brushed his hair from his face, and changed his sheets, washing blood off him, trying to be a good girl to him. And he never even asked for an apology. So she blamed his wife, and made him mad at her, but she couldn't take his only other friend away from him, so she let Anderson forgive his wife, but she still never let her near him for more than a few minutes, convincing herself it was the wife's fault, and she didn't deserve someone as lovely as Anderson.

And still Anderson looked at her with kindness, always asking her how she was, when he could talk again. She asked her how she was handling work, and she told him about Sherlock's insults, and Anderson hated him right away. How could anyone insult someone as lovely and perfect as Sally, who he truly mustn't deserve? She promised that she'd take him to the next crime scene she went to. He nodded and gave her an honest smile she'd rarely seen on other faces. Anderson never took her for granted, and he always seemed to know what to say to make her feel better. She ignored the fact this was because she'd made him up, because it didn't matter. She loved him, and in her own twisted way, she made him love her. Now the only person standing in her way was his wife, who she'd so lovingly created for him.

Anderson slowly got better, he could walk on his own, and he could shower, and he could hug her, without her having to wrap his arms for him. And she wasn't sure if she didn't like it better when he couldn't move, because now he was sitting with his wife, and she didn't like that. She didn't want to get mad and hurt Anderson, but she felt like that was the only time he loved her anymore. And it wasn't like he could get mad and leave her. No, she wouldn't let that happen. She needed Anderson. She loved Anderson. She reminded herself, telling herself it was for his own good, as she raged silently at him, letting her frustrations pour into his wife, and ignoring Anderson's pleas for her to make it stop. She opened her eyes, and bent down, seeing how bad it was. Broken ribs, and shallow breathing, his face was bruised and swollen, and this was /not/ her fault, not at all. It was his wife. It had to be. She would never do this to him. He looked up at her, his eyes only open a little slit, but they still looked at her full of affection and love. And that was just how she liked it.

Sally was sure he was dying. Not that her mind would allow him to die, but still it felt like it. His breathing was ragged and gasping and he weakly gripped at her hand, struggling along and she felt a little bad that this had happened, but it was okay, because Anderson was being looked after by her, the blanket draped over his fragile body, while she smoothed his hair and tried to comfort him. And he still was only worried that she was okay. She wanted to cry a little at that. She hated his wife, regardless of the fact she'd made her, no one got to hurt Anderson, NO ONE. So the wife was made to vanish. Anderson looked sad, until she walked back over and took up a gentle grip on his hand, kissing it lightly, making him blush.

It was Greg who found out about Anderson, who was still getting better, lying on the sofa, waiting for Sally to come home, and when she did, he looked like a little kid, and she would hug him, and he would tell her she was great, and they would be happy for the night. She was sent away, to a place where they had to wear all white, and Anderson wasn't all better, so she sat on the couch, or on her bed, with him resting in her lap, waiting for him to be good. They told her that she needed to forget him, but she didn't want to. How could she? But she did. And home she went, no Anderson in tow, and she took back her job, working from the bottom up, and still no Anderson. She got a boyfriend, and still no Anderson, but he left her, and she was so lonely and she had no one. She went to work, and she was lonely. She was lonely for a long, long time, until one day, she saw him again, sitting on the side of her bed, his love filled eyes watching her fondly.

Anderson was a toy she made to make herself feel better, about being so alone. She loved him more than anything on the planet, and he loved her so much in reply, no matter what happened to him, he would always love Sally. Because he knew no different, and she would always love him, because Sally loved him. Because he was the only one who would love her back.


End file.
